


Family

by Serena90



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Murder, Bolton Family, Dysfunctional Family, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:42:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5315504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serena90/pseuds/Serena90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a one-shot of Draco Malfoy being born into the Bolton family. As expected it all ends in death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why I wrote this. The idea just came to me of how similar Malfoy/Bolton Houses kind of are. For some time I've wanted to do a crossover with Draco in Westeros and this is what happened... Hope you like it! I promise I will update my other fics soon :)

This had been... unexpected. His quest for safety with one of his House’s ancient relics had turned him into a babe yet to be born. He hadn’t truly realised where he was until he had been born. He had soon realised that his magic felt different, he didn’t feel as connected to it or as purposeful. He knew something was amiss when he was referred to as “she” and given the feminine Lyara as a name. It wouldn’t be until he was older, a toddler, that he would realise that the relic’s magic had tried to keep him as similar to his original form as possible. Since wizards could bear and sire children, the old relic had given him a form that held the genitalia of a man and a woman.

His outward appearance was similar to that of his past birth. His hair was still a pale blond and his eyes could still be described as grey. In spite of this, in deference to the assigned gender by his parents, his hair was long and his eyes were the eerie moon-shade eyes of House Bolton. At least, in Draco, they didn’t look as unsettling as they did on his sire, Lord Bolton. Even though Draco didn’t look normal by anyone’s standards with his pale skin, hair and eyes, he – she looked more ethereal than disturbing.

It was hard to grow up as a female. This wasn’t his old world, the Wizarding World, where a witch was just as valued as a wizard. This was a world where men were considered superior to women. He- she also wasn’t certain of his – her future. His parents had been careful to hide his “deformity” from anyone, but a daughter’s purpose was to be wed for alliances. It would be impossible for Lyara’s husband not to notice that his wife had a cock. It would have been much easier to raise Draco as a son than as a daughter, but he supposed they had feared he would develop breasts and that he would be physically weaker than a pure male. To be honest, Draco wasn’t too sure of how he would grow.

His family here was like the Malfoys and at the same time very different. Both of his familiess had been noble and of wealth and importance in their territory. Both families had been feared by large, with a perilous reputation. Both of his sires had been cold, calculating men. And both of his mothers had been loving and kind. However, Lucius Malfoy had loved and been devoted to his family, even if by all accounts he was a vicious man. Lord Roose Bolton seemed incapable of caring for anyone, although he did hold his House as a priority. Lady Narcissa Malfoy née Black, had been the perfect lady: she had been strong, poised and beautiful. Whereas Lady Bethany Bolton née Ryswell was… well, she was comely enough and she did know about managing a household, yet she had none of the presence of Narcissa Malfoy.

Draco –Lyara– still loved both of his mothers. Nevertheless, he, she, strived to be the image of his first mother: elegant, powerful Lady Narcissa Malfoy.

She was also experiencing for the first time having a brother. Domeric Bolton was incredibly unlike his parents. Whilst physically he shared many of their features, his personality was very different. He was well-read and would delight his little sister with endless stories, he played the harp beautifully and patiently taught his little sister how to do so and he expertly rode horses and would indulge his little sister in a few races. To be honest, Domeric Bolton was quite possibly the perfect brother: loving and affectionate. It was a pity that he was away most of the time, serving as a page for their aunt, Lady Barbrey Dustin in Barrowton and then training as a squire in the Vale.

She supposed she couldn’t complain, since the Maester indulged her in teaching her herb lore as well as the normal lessons of a lady. His father thought it was stupid, she knew, yet the youngest Potions Master in history had tutored Draco in potions, he needed the connection and it was easy work for him.

Despite his uncertainty, Lyara’s childhood was undeniably easy. At least, until her beloved older brother almost died of falling off a horse returning from the Vale. Curiously enough, the accident that left Domeric bed-ridden and on the brink of death, happened near her father’s bastard’s home. Their lord father had never allowed Domeric to meet their half-brother, yet it had only been his little sister’s pleading to see him sooner that had stopped her older brother from visiting the bastard on his way to the Vale and back.

Lyara knocked on the door of the shabby house. She looked like the perfect little lady in her dark pink skirts carefully embroidered by herself in white thread and her fair hair in a single waterfall braid. Her beautiful face revealed a concerned and innocent expression. She had been a Malfoy in another life; she was well-versed in the art of lying. The cold fury that rested in her heart wasn’t present in her moon-shade eyes.

A young man opened the door. He had the Bolton eyes, a shade as light as the moon. She felt a shudder of disgust at the thought of sharing such a personal characteristic with this creature. His eyes were even crueller than father’s and there was something distinctly wild in his movements. He was handsome, she supposed, although not as handsome as Domeric. His comely face held a kind expression that was as fake as her own. Lyara’s hand twitched inside her pocket: all her father’s sadism with none of his restraint or control. A liability to their House.

“Ramsay?” she inquired with a hopeful note in her tone, she was the very image of a lost noble maiden.

The fool bastard quickly put on a façade of openness and kindness, “You must be Lyara? Sister, what are you doing here?”

With all the naivety of a ten-year-old, she hugged the attempted murdered of his brother by the waist, “Domeric is going to die”, she cried in distress.

Ramsay Snow let her in. It was obvious that he wanted to establish himself as a good brother; after all, Lyara was a trueborn daughter who could contest the claim of a bastard son. Furthermore, it would be suspicious for her to have an accident so soon after her brother’s. So for the moment at least, Ramsay Snow would play the charade of the kind brother with her. He wasn’t a terrible actor, to be truthful, even if it galled her to admit. Lyara had simply seen his soul and it would not do.

The creature that was inside the shack smelled like the most terrible thing she or Draco had ever smelled. Its speak was broken and it was obvious that the man itself was a broken thing. The name of Reek was fitting. She was doing the world a favour by riding it of these cockroaches. It was easy to make tea for the three of them, still sniffling and bemoaning Domeric’s health. Neither of them found anything odd in a noble lady serving a bastard and a freak. It was ever easier to drink her tea, seemingly innocent, as Reek and Ramsay drank theirs.

When both of them collapsed from the poorly crafted chairs to the floor choking in their own blood, Lyara continued to sip her tea calmly observing the scene. Draco Malfoy had witnessed murder and torture; he had even seen a witch being eaten alive. This- was nothing, especially because she could be quite vicious on what pertained her family and Domeric was her family. These two… they were nothing. She finished her cup and poured herself more tea; she was waiting for a visitor, after all.

As expected, night had not yet fallen when Lord Bolton stormed into the room. His moves were those of an agile predator. He was brought to a stop by the sight of his ten-year-old daughter serenely drinking her tea in front of the cadavers of two men. The perfect little lady was sitting with a straight back and the pose of a great lady, sipping elegantly the rough cup of tea. Her father was many things, but he was no fool. Slowly, his spectral eyes regarded her appraisingly.

Lyara slowly smiled, “He was a burden to our house. He might have been useful for some matter, yet he forfeited his life as soon as my brother ‘fell’ off his horse”

Lord Bolton sat down on one of the chairs unperturbed, as though his daughter hadn’t admitted to fratricide.

Lyara continued speaking commandingly, embodying Narcissa Malfoy née Black, “To make matters clear Father, I shall not be a spinster as you wish. I shall marry Robb Stark, heir to the North. Our children will rule the North and my first-born shall squire for Domeric if he lives. If Domeric dies, my first-born shall be Lord of Winterfell and my second-born shall be Lord of the Dreadfort and I shall be his regent were you to die before his coming of age”

Roose Bolton arched an eyebrow, his face amused, “And how will you marry Robb Stark?”

“He shall ask for my hand, of course”, she replied placidly as she stirred her tea.

“Is that so?” inquired with the hint of a smile on his thin lips her father.

“I shall be sent to be a ward of Winterfell, due to a lack of female companions here in Dreadfort”, she dictated absent-mindedly, “As I am close in age to Lady Sansa Stark and our family is the second most powerful in the North, Lord Stark wouldn’t deny you, especially after banishing flaying. He doesn’t trust you, yet he’ll want to appease you. When Robb Stark expresses his interest in marrying me… well, it will have its political advantages to Lord Stark and to refuse his most powerful banner man would be quite a misstep. He shall have Dreadfort’s loyalty for at least a couple of generations and the northeners will be pleased that the next Lady Stark shall be a northerner”

“Indeed”, drawled Lord Bolton as his discomfiting eyes studied his daughter.

Lyara gave him a sweet, gentle smile that of an innocent noble-born maiden. If there were not two men dead in the room, it would have fooled anyone.

“You are truly my daughter”, determined Lord Bolton with an almost invisible smile.

Her father stood up, his chair dragging and making a terrible noise as it hit Ramsay’s dead body. The Lord of Dreadfort was unbothered and walked to the door, his eyes watching her expectantly.

“It is time to return home, Lyara”

**Author's Note:**

> I doubt I will write any continuation to this story, but tell me this is a rough draft! Tell me if you would like to work on it a bit more :)


End file.
